by Danielle Verwers
I.
Baldwin sold the set he built
there on the kitchen table
to the Navy. Continue reading
by Danielle Verwers
I.
Baldwin sold the set he built
there on the kitchen table
to the Navy. Continue reading
by Candice Kelsey
My head is the lawn of a country manor overrun by horses released on a fox hunt. I press a thumb to my occipital muscle with the rhythm of a gallop. Tally ho! the corpuscles scream as I manipulate the pressure point. I notice the screen above the mantle flashing Are you still watching? I select Yes, of course. Although this sixth episode of season one of Murder, She Wrote is evidence I am not watching at all. Lynne Redgrave and Angela Lansbury fill the silence three days after Christmas while my family travels. My anxiety forbids me to leave the house. Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
by Richard Schiffman
The way the morning yawns a horizon just before sunup
and the sky brightens to a porcelain bowl of ashes.
That trembled hush as night lights blink out like fireflies
and towers teeter up, a troupe of ballerinas surprised Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Asher Proctor-Jasper
The man in the truck next to me tore open the paper surrounding his double western bacon cheeseburger from Carl’s Jr. He flopped the barbecue sauce-drenched sandwich onto his bottom teeth, clenching down with his top teeth, and tearing it away with his dirty hand. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Nathaniel Calhoun
it took quite a bit more from me by the end of it
than I expected. but it didn’t take much to get underway. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry